Together
by sweetsolitude137
Summary: The dance scene, reimagined. H/Hr. One-shot. Set during DH. I hope you enjoy!


Harry watched as Hermione sat, huddled over the book Dumbledore had left her.

From his bunk, he was out of her view, but he could see her fully.

In the reflection of one of Hermione's conjured flames, Harry watched as slow, silent tears fell, saw them fall through the empty space between Hermione's face and the surface of the book she poured over.

"Why did you stay?" Harry croaked through the silence, barely recognizing his own voice. He wasn't sure when he'd spoken last.

Hermione jumped in her seat, startled by Harry's question, quickly wiping at her face.

The wind and freezing rain outside ripped noisily against the walls of the tent. Icy air drafted through every seam. Even Hermione's flames were not enough to keep them warm tonight.

Harry was seated on his bunk, knees drawn to his chest, under layers of blankets. He'd been researching, or at least attempting research, for what felt like hours, immobilized by the cold, by the unyielding emptiness inside him.

Harry had read the same line of the same bloody book no less than ten times before finally giving up, dismally tossing said book to the end of his bed.

He took the locket off too, shoved it unceremoniously under his pillowcase.

Tonight, the locket was indescribably heavy. It burned icy cold under Harry's shirt, against his chest. He felt empty, and right now, he just wanted to feel _something_ for a little while.

Up until this point, he'd been wearing the locket nearly twenty-four hours a day.

It was the only way he could devise to attempt to ease some of Hermione's pain.

Harry recalled her initial protests.

"I can handle it, Harry. Please, you need a break from it too."

"Absolutely not," Harry had responded, in the firmest, yet gentlest, way he could manage. Harry felt he had no control over anything anymore, but at the very least, he could make damn well sure Hermione didn't have to endure the agony of the locket.

The memory fading, now watching Hermione cry in solitary silence across the room, Harry felt anger begin to take shape within the pit of his emptiness.

_I hate this._

It had devastated him, to watch Ron leave, but witnessing Hermione cry like this incited a different sort of ache for Harry, a pain he was sure went unmatched.

He felt ill.

Harry felt it was his fault Hermione was in such a state, his fault they were alone in the bitter cold searching for uncertain cursed objects that may or may not even exist. His fault they were trying to find the answers to questions that were barely formulated to begin with. His fault Ron had left.

Harry's anger swelled, at himself, at Ron.

"What?" Hermione asked quietly, fruitlessly attempting to muffle her sniffling. Her voice sounded hoarse.

Harry wasn't sure how many days had passed since Ron had left. He'd stopped counting.

Harry knew Ron wasn't coming back. Even if he was out there somewhere, trying to find them, Harry figured it'd be impossible.

Hermione's protective charms were infallible, and their choice of location was unpredictable, random. Plus, they never stayed in any one place long.

Harry knew Hermione tried to hide her pain from him, be strong for him, but, more than that, he _knew_ his best friend, perhaps better than she thought, perhaps better than anyone gave him credit.

_At least, _Harry mused, replaying Ron's departure again in his mind, perhaps for the thousandth time, _I know her better than Ron._

Harry knew Hermione wasn't doing well, and even though he couldn't pinpoint the exact nature of her pain, had been too afraid to ask, silently, he shared in her loneliness, her rejection, her fear.

Their friend had left him, too.

Harry understood why Ron had left him, had called it quits on their misguided mission.

In fact, part of Harry was even glad Ron had left, perhaps his friend would be safer that way, but Harry was angry with Ron for leaving Hermione. Harry couldn't fathom how Ron could leave her, didn't understand how he could force her into such a place of unfairness.

And Harry certainly didn't understand why Hermione had stayed.

Again, Harry knew his best friend. He knew she was strong, and brave, and he couldn't take seeing her defeated anymore. Harry could no longer handle the long stretches of silence, which had made a lonely situation even more isolating. He knew she blamed herself as much, if not more, than he blamed himself.

But he wouldn't let her bring herself down any longer. She'd do the same for him.

"Why did you stay?" Harry repeated.

He shook blankets from his shoulders and rose from his bed, stretching. With purpose, he joined Hermione at the table, wordlessly draping one of said blankets over her shoulders.

He reached over, and, without asking, closed the book in front of her, pushed it out of sight.

Hermione stared at him blankly.

"Why did you stay?" Harry asked again, gently. He tried not to let his anger at the situation show.

"Harry, you should take a break from the locket," Hermione said worriedly, glancing at his chest. She sensed his anger. She wasn't sure if he was angry with _her_, for staying, for getting nowhere with Dumbledore's book, for being the cause, at least in part, of Ron's departure.

"Let me wear it for a while."

"I'm not wearing it," Harry explained, pulling down his shirt collar and patting his chest, "See?"

Harry saw Hermione stealthily eye his bunk, but, again, he knew his best friend inside and out. Plus, he was faster than her.

Hurtling toward his bunk, Harry's fingers gripped the locket under his pillow as Hermione crashed into him. She'd tried to take it back from him, to bear the burden for him.

"Nice try," Harry said, "Trying out for seeker this year, are we?" He chuckled, amused by Hermione's attempt.

Hermione frowned, and sauntered back to the table.

Harry followed, his hand tight around the locket. Seating himself across from Hermione again, he briefly observed the wretched item in his hand, then unceremoniously chucked it across the room.

"Harry!"

"Feels good."

Harry watched with satisfaction as Hermione attempted to hold back a laugh.

Harry grinned. He missed Hermione's smile. The shadow of Hermione's smile faded as quickly as it had appeared, however.

Harry sighed. He suddenly felt very old.

_Seventeen going on seventy,_ Harry scoffed internally.

For perhaps the first time, Harry allowed himself to wonder what his life might be like if he'd never discovered he were a wizard, if he never knew magic, if he were a Muggle teenager.

He wondered if maybe this thought had ever occurred to Hermione, being Muggle-born.

"D'you ever wonder what it'd be like if you never went to Hogwarts? If you didn't have magic?"

"Of course," Hermione replied plainly, "Have you?"

"Maybe… but I think it was always too horrible to imagine being stuck with the Dursleys. Even now," Harry grimaced.

Hermione nodded, knowingly.

"What d'you think you'd be doing right now, if you didn't have magic?" Harry wondered. It was easier to think on the subject when the Dursleys were out of the picture.

"I'm not sure. I guess I'd be getting ready to start uni in the fall."

"Oxford or Cambridge, I bet," Harry said, smirking. He didn't know much, if anything, about what it was like to be a Muggle teenager, but he knew those schools were the best, for the brilliant, so he knew Hermione would no doubt belong there, if she were a Muggle.

Hermione chuckled, "It'd be a dream, I think. But my family doesn't have any connections to anyone at those schools. I doubt I'd ever be accepted."

"Of course you would, you're brilliant."

"What do you think you'd be doing?" Hermione asked, uncomfortable with the focus of conversation on her.

"No idea. Definitely not getting ready to go to uni. I was never very good in school."

"I'm sure you did all right," Hermione offered, knowing Harry was intelligent, but sometimes lazy, especially where school assignments were concerned.

"Maybe," Harry abdicated, shrugging.

"Maybe you'd be out right now at a pub with your friends, on Christmas break," Hermione said, somehow cheered at the image of Harry laughing and joking with a group of friends in a warmly lit pub.

She missed his laugh, the smiles that reached his eyes.

"Never really had those at school either," Harry shrugged again, "Friends, I mean. I think _you'd_ be the one at the pub with _your _friends."

Even though the picture of a "Muggle" Hermione in a pub with her friends at Christmastime should have been a scene of joy, security, and belonging, this image disquieted Harry.

It wasn't right, Hermione separated from magic. Harry shivered. Even if he could somehow choose to turn back time for his best friend, alter her reality, keep her away from horcrux hunts and deatheaters and a dark lord, he wouldn't.

To Harry, Hermione was the embodiment of magic.

"No one really wants to be friends with the bookish know-it-all who happily spends her lunch and recess in the library," Hermione said, looking into her lap.

Harry remained silent. He'd never really considered what Hermione's childhood before Hogwarts had been like, and he'd certainly never asked. Harry knew Hermione had no siblings. Now he knew she had no friends growing up, either. Maybe her childhood hadn't been so different from his own; solitary.

"I was a lonely kid, Harry. I never fit in… and when I learned about Hogwarts, learned that I was a _witch_, it was like something out of a fairytale."

Harry could relate. A dream he'd never allowed himself to have as a child came true the day he'd met Hagrid; beard, birthday cake, and all.

Suddenly remembering Hermione's first days at Hogwarts, Harry felt sick.

"And we were so horrible to you, in first year."

"Not you, Harry."

"Yes, me, Hermione. Maybe I wasn't the one throwing out the insults, but I didn't do anything to stop it, either. Some Gryffindor."

"We were eleven," Hermione shrugged. "It's what eleven-year-olds do."

"Not if they have any sense," Harry said.

_Have I _ever_ been a good friend to her? _Harry questioned himself.

"Well, I never implied you had any sense," Hermione joked, smirking.

Harry felt his heart jump.

_I miss this._

"You were my first friend, Harry…" Hermione continued.

"You were mine, too," Harry said quickly, "You and Ron."

They were wordless for a moment before Harry spoke again. Thought of Ron was noise enough.

Harry tried to banish the thought of Ron.

"I'm sorry that I was such a bad friend," he said sincerely.

Hermione smiled at her best friend, "No one's perfect, Harry. I haven't always been a good friend."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry said incredulously, "Name one time."

"Your Firebolt."

Harry laughed sarcastically, "So you're telling me a good friend _doesn't_ protect the people they care about from something that's very likely to kill them, or maim them at the very least? No wonder you think I've been such a _good_ friend."

"You _have_ been a good friend, Harry, you're my best friend. If you don't know that by now…"

"Might not ever get another chance to," Harry said quietly.

Their eyes met in silent understanding. Harry suspected, no, he _knew_, he had some larger part to play in this war, a part that would likely mean the end of his life. Now he knew Hermione suspected this as well.

Their gaze still locked, he now also realized that Hermione didn't fully expect to come out the other end of this war alive herself. It was why she'd erased her parents' memories and relocated them halfway across the world, why she hadn't simply relocated them somewhere safe.

Harry wanted to argue with her, assure her he wouldn't let that happen- he'd never allow her to die, not while he still lived. But he couldn't promise that. He couldn't protect her from anything, it seemed.

For a moment, his anger swelled again.

Hermione had given up everything- her childhood, her own well-being, her parents.

_And for what?_ Harry thought. _For me, for the war?_

Hermione deserved so much more. She deserved safety, joy- she deserved to be appreciated. She deserved love.

Harry knew she _didn't_ deserve to be taken for granted, insulted, mistrusted. She didn't deserve to be abandoned, to be treated the way Ron had treated her.

His anger reached a peak, and then, suddenly, wholly disappeared. In an instant, Harry no longer cared. In truth, he felt a bit manic, but more than that, he felt… free.

He realized they could, would likely, be dead in a few months, or weeks, or days, even… and as horrible as that was, Harry felt there was no reason to hold anything back.

"Hermione, I- I don't know if I'm going to be able to forgive him."

It felt both wrong and oddly liberating to say it.

Hermione was silent, playing with her hands in her lap.

"I'm not mad he left because of the horcruxes. I get why he was angry with me, and fed up. But I just- how could he do that to you?"

"Harry…," Hermione started, and Harry could sense she was about to defend Ron.

"It's not okay, Hermione. Don't defend him. I just don't get how he could leave you. You don't deserve to be treated like that, especially by someone you ca a friend. It's obvious you- care- for him."

"He didn't leave me. I left _him._ I stayed."

"It's not your fault. And even though I feel like it's my fault too, it's not really _our_ fault at all, is it, Hermione?"

Hermione looked up, and Harry's gaze was firm.

"It's _not_ our fault. We all wore the locket. We all feel lost and hopeless and alone, but we haven't given up on the war. We haven't given up on each other," Harry explained.

"Ron just- he felt useless, he felt left out, I think. I didn't notice-" Hermione stumbled over her words.

"It's not your job to make sure Ron feels included! If anything, he should've been worried about taking care of _you_."

"I know it's not my job, Harry," Hermione said firmly, "But you know he gets- jealous," Hermione finished, looking down.

Harry sighed. He couldn't understand how or why his intelligent and strong best friend could make these kind of excuses, could take on so much unwarranted blame. Unless…

"Do you love him, Hermione?"

Hermione looked up in surprise. She sputtered, "I- I…"

"It's the only reason I can think of as to why you keep making excuses for him. That you must love him."

Hermione gaped.

Harry knew he was being bold, even a little out of character. But what reason was there to keep this all inside? To let Hermione continue on, hurt, blaming herself?

Harry shook his head. "You shouldn't. You shouldn't love him."

He couldn't really believe the words falling out of his mouth, but there they were.

"You shouldn't love someone who leaves you when things get hard, someone so jealous, so focused on their own problems, that they don't even think about the needs of someone else."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, "How can you say that!?"

Harry stood, and began pacing.

"Look- Ron is my best friend, I don't think anything will ever change that, how can you- we- keep making excuses for him, honestly, Hermione? You're smarter than this, you're stronger than this! How can you let someone treat you this way over and over?"

"Ron is our best friend! You know he cares about us, you know he'd do anything for us-"

"Obviously not, Hermione. At least, not every time. You know it. He left us- he left _you_. How can you love him?"

"I don't know!" Hermione shouted.

Harry felt guilty. He hadn't meant to upset Hermione. He returned to his seat at the table.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, sincerely, "I know it's not my place. I just hate seeing you like this."

"No," Hermione said immediately, "Harry, you're- you're right."

Harry was silent.

"I let him treat me this way, you're right. It's not our fault he left. I need to stop making excuses for him."

Harry remained quiet, listening, allowing Hermione time to process.

"Maybe I've been too focused on the person I know Ron could be… not who he really is. You're right, I need to stop blaming myself for his faults, his mistakes…. Maybe I've been spending too much time around you, Harry."

At first, Harry thought she was serious, but when he saw her small smile, he realized she was joking.

"Probably," Harry chuckled in return. "I'm a pro in the self-loathing department."

"Hermione, I _am_ sorry, though. It's not my place to say who you should or shouldn't, um, love. You just deserve so much more."

Hermione blushed, and said, "I don't- I mean, I just, I don't know what I feel. It's not really a priority right now, you know?"

Harry laughed sarcastically. He knew, all right.

For a moment, he thought of Ginny, considered what she might be doing right at this moment. Her image made him feel empty, distant.

_Do I love Ginny?_ Harry questioned internally. He looked up at Hermione.

_No_, his mind and heart answered back. _I don't know._ Harry thought.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged, wordlessly. He didn't want to talk about Ginny.

"I just can't figure out…" Hermione started, tentatively.

Harry looked at her with curiosity.

"Never mind," she said.

"Just tell me, Hermione, really, what've we got to lose?" Harry laughed again, dryly.

Harry noticed sudden determination in her eyes.

"I just cant figure out what Ron is jealous of, exactly."

Harry stared. He'd never used much mental space worrying about Ron's jealousy.

"I mean, I know he's had difficulty with his jealousy of his brothers, and you… but all that made sense. And it seemed like he was getting better with it, growing into himself more."

"Compliments of a strong confundus charm," Harry smirked, recalling Hermione's role during Ron's keeper tryouts.

"That was nothing. I seem to remember something about Felix Felicis," Hermione rebuffed, her grin widening.

"I'm not sure what you mean…" Harry said, suddenly finding his fingernails incredibly interesting.

Hermione shook her head, grinning, but then her smile fell.

"I just…," Hermione started again, then stopped.

Harry looked up encouragingly, but Hermione did not meet his eyes.

"I think Ron might be jealous of _us_, Harry."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Us?"

"Yes, us, you and me. But I don't understand why, where it comes from."

Harry was confused.

"Our friendship? But he's our best friend."

Hermione released a breath she'd been holding, and said, rather quickly, blushing, "I think he's jealous of our friendship, yes, and I think maybe… maybe he thinks there's something- more- between us."

Harry had never considered Ron was jealous of his and Hermione's relationship. In fact, Harry himself had never given much thought to his relationship with Hermione in comparison to his friendship with Ron.

He considered it now, the sounds of the raging wind outside flooding the silence in the tent, and suddenly felt his breath catch in his throat. His heart raced.

He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, "Dumbledore."

Hermione looked at him like he was mental.

"Dumbledore, he sort of implied one time… he asked me about you."

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised. Harry'd never mentioned this before. "What did you say?"

Harry stood abruptly, and frantically scanned the room. His gaze landed on the radio, and he hastily moved to turn it on. The tent filled with the sound of static.

"Harry, no, not the radio," Hermione pleaded, her dread of said object overtaking her confusion regarding her friend's perplexing behavior.

Harry fiddled with the radio, "I'm tired of talking about Ron," he said from across the room.

Unexpectedly, the tent filled with the sound of music. The song was melodic, low, and slow.

Harry stood, returned to Hermione's side, and outstretched his hand.

She hesitantly placed her hand in his, and he lifted her up. He placed his free hand around her waist and drew her close.

The blanket she'd been wearing fell to the floor as they began to sway to the music.

As they danced, Harry recalled witnessing Bill and Fleur's first dance as husband and wife. Again, Harry mused how much time he had left, wondered about all the things he would miss.

"I wish I could've gone as myself to Bill and Fleur's wedding," Harry said, referring to his polyjuice appearance as Ron's "cousin" at their wedding.

"Me too," Hermione said, sensing Harry's thoughts, and trying to cheer him up, "It's been a long time since I've seen you in those dress robes you love."

"Hah, right," Harry said.

"Too bad we didn't dance then," Hermione continued, "You're not so bad as you think."

"Oh yeah?" Harry ventured, proceeding to lead Hermione into a spin.

She spun outward, then back to him, bumping into his chest. She laughed.

"See?" She said appreciatively.

"Just add it to the list of things I'll miss out on."

"Harry…" Hermione started.

But Harry continued, "Dancing with Hermione at a wedding… seeing _you_ get married. Weird. Getting married myself… watching the Chuddley Cannons win the Cup, got to happen eventually, right? Having my own family. Merlin… I'm going to die a virgin."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, blushing.

She tried to take a step back from Harry, but he continued to hold her close. She didn't really mind.

"Let's stop trying to be strong for each other, Hermione, just for a little bit. I know you know I'm probably not going to make it out of this alive, and I know that you think you aren't going to, either."

"As long as I'm still here, which, unfortunately, probably isn't that long, I won't let that happen," Harry promised, "I won't let you die."

"Well, I'm not going to let _you,_" Hermione affirmed.

Harry chuckled dryly. He knew his friend was the brightest witch of her age, but he knew even Hermione couldn't protect him.

"You think this is funny?" Hermione asked, wrenching herself away. Harry shivered. It was cold without her by his side.

"You think _you_ can protect _me_, but I somehow can't protect _you_? What was all that about me being strong and capable and deserving better?"

"It's not funny, Harry!" Hermione shouted, tears filling her eyes.

"Hermione, I-" Harry's stomach fell. He was being insensitive, he tried to apologize.

"You want to know why I stayed?" Hermione said, wiping at her eyes, her gaze unflinching.

Harry nodded.

"Because we're stronger together. Because our chance to defeat Voldemort, to end this war, to protect the people, the community, the wizarding world we love, is together, Harry. Maybe Ron didn't know that, or maybe he forgot. And maybe I'll never forgive him for it. But Dumbledore knew it. I know it. Deep down, I know you know it too."

Hermione wasn't crying anymore, and she continued, with determination.

"I'd never leave you alone, Harry, and there's no way in hell I'm going to let you die, if it's the last thing I do. You're my best friend, and I-"

Harry took her hand again, and she let him. The song continued, and they resumed their dance.

"I know we might not make it, Harry, but I won't- I can't- imagine my life without you in it."

Harry imagined his life after the war, without Hermione.

_What would I do, how could I go on, without her?_

In truth, there had been many times Harry had considered how he felt for his best friend, and now, for the first time, with the fear that he could lose her, that Hermione could die, he realized he'd always stopped himself at 'best friend.'

It was too frightening, too difficult, to imagine what might happen if he allowed himself to truly consider how he felt for her- to consider what he would lose if she didn't feel the same.

_Everything, I'll lose everything._

But now, Harry realized he could lose _so much_ more if he _didn't_ allow himself to consider how he truly felt. He could die in this war, sure, he knew, but more than that, Harry now realized that he could very well lose Hermione… forever.

He and Hermione were a team, even without Ron. It had been clear in fourth year, and it was even more obvious now. She'd always known him best, better than he knew himself even. And now, Harry saw that perhaps he knew Hermione best, too, better than anyone.

They always did what they thought was best for the other, challenged each other, comforted each other during difficult times, and had always come out stronger, better, on the other side.

_Maybe there _is_ reason for Ron to be jealous_, Harry thought.

"Hermione," Harry started, "Dumbledore asked me once, about you and me, and I said we are friends, best friends…"

Hermione met his gaze as he continued.

"But honestly, I guess I don't know how I feel about you and me."

"Oh…" Hermione said, sadly. Harry heard her sadness, and quickly corrected himself.

"I mean- you _are _my best friend, and I don't know what I'd do without you, either. I've never let myself think about that… but now…"

One song ended, easing into another. The melody was slow and haunting, but oddly hopeful.

"I guess what I'm saying is, I can see why Ron might be jealous of us, Hermione… can't you?"

"Harry," Hermione said abruptly, "Can we think about what we'd do if we both lived through this? If we didn't have to worry about anyone else's feelings? If we were both absolutely sure we would both come out of this alive and well?"

"But, Hermione-"

"I know it's not exactly realistic, or logical. But I'm realizing I've never allowed myself to think about what would happen after all of this, after Voldemort, if we _both_ live… I've never thought about what _I'd _really want for myself, after the war."

Harry took Hermione's suggestion to heart. He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine his life, put aside what he wanted for his friends and loved ones, truly thought about what he might want for _himself_ after the war.

He didn't see Ginny. He didn't see himself as a Quidditch star.

Harry felt free. He saw Hogwarts, his home. He sensed opportunity, and choice. He saw a family, his family, by his side. He saw Hermione standing in front of him, smiling. He was whole.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione beat him to it.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm afraid- of what I'm going to admit, but… I never allowed myself to imagine we'd both live after all this."

"I've been horrible, thinking that. Sometimes it's hard for me to see outside my own logic…"

"It's all right, Hermione," Harry chuckled, "I never imagined myself living either."

Harry and Hermione were silent for a moment, waiting for the other to speak.

"But what would happen, Harry, if we both lived… if we…"

"If we were together?"

Harry wasn't sure when they'd stopped dancing, but he felt as though the world had stopped turning, felt as though he and Hermione were frozen in a moment in time.

He took a step closer, felt her breath on his throat. He placed a hand on her cheek, and leaned forward.

Harry kissed Hermione, gently, at first, then deeply.

Harry and Hermione both felt an overwhelming warmth, a sense of wholeness, of surety.

If they'd had the capacity to be more aware of their surroundings, they would have heard the volume of the song on the radio increase, would have noticed Hermione's flames change from blue to emerald green, would have noticed their feet rising, together, a foot from the floor.

Harry and Hermione floated midair, embracing; their kiss, their connection, unbroken.

For the first time, Harry and Hermione did more than hope, they _believed_\- they believed their friendship, their bravery, their love, would help them make it through this war, together.

/

/

A/N: Thank you for reading!


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